Three words escape as breath
Dead corn stalks line the road with words.
Fog descends like an Appalachian Christ.
Secrets spill from whisper, a morning sermon
that glistens and shimmers when light
is weak and wet, when fodder waves and bows
with each passing car making I love you
harder to say, sticking in my throat like bread
without wine. I hold your heart, silent
as a prayer, I’ve just never held you this tightly,
you said, as I let you go.
Kevin LeMaster lives in South Shore, Kentucky. His poems have been found at The Lakes, Appalachian Heritage, Praxis magazine, Rockvale Review, The Rye Whiskey Review, Silhouette, Jellyfish Review and others. He has served as poetry editor for Shawnee State’s literary magazine, The Silhouette, and has been on the selection committee for their woman’s literary magazine, Tapestries. His work in “Rubicon: Words and art inspired by Oscar Wildes De Profundis” has been nominated for a Pushcart prize.